


lance of ruin

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Weaponfucking, happy wank week?, if linhardt can swing thunderbrand then felix can absolutely fuck against the lance of ruin, inappropriate uses of hero relics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25743937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Felix gets off with Sylvain's hero relic.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Lance of Ruin, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 108
Collections: Anonymous





	lance of ruin

This was, by all accounts, a bad idea. A fucking terrible idea.

Comparable to the time they fucked in Seteth’s office while the man was having a word with the professor just down the hall.

Similar in that there were very real, very risky, potential repercussions but the danger added to the high and, just like now, he could hardly give a fuck about _afterwards_ when he could barely wrap his head around _now._

Felix blamed Sylvain for that and he could and would blame him for this too.

Fuck his adrenaline-high induced boner.

Fuck Sylvain and his fancy, distracting lance-handling with the Lance of Ruin in the middle of a mission.

And fuck Sylvain for leaning into his ear and saying in that suggestive husky tone of his, _I’m good at handling more than just my lance._

Fuck. Him.

Because those words were laced with a heated promise and there was no way Sylvain didn’t notice the full-body shiver that had run through him. Sylvain’s hands (and hands alone) were more than capable of taking him apart and reducing him to a sobbing, desperate mess.

Which is why when Sylvain left him with his hands bound behind his back, driven nearly insane and on the brink of release, Felix had _begged_ him not to leave without getting him off first.

Fucker. 

So there he was, tied up, leaking onto his stomach with tears streaming down his face, _desperate_ for release.

Maybe that was what compelled him. The desperation. Maybe it was the faint beckoning glow of the crest stone embedded in the Lance of Ruin. Or maybe it was a combination of everything plus _Sylvain_ , because everything was about _fucking Sylvain_ and needing him – his warmth, his voice, his skillful touch – that Felix thought the tangential connection of _the fucking Crest of Gautier_ was _close enough_.

Felix fumbled, on wobbling legs, to where the lance was propped against Sylvain’s desk and nearly collapsed onto it, groaning at the friction against his dripping length.

His cock was slick with precum, making the slide against the lance easy. He thrust against it, hips erratic as he tried to leverage himself into a rhythm. Little punched gasps spilled out of his throat every time his tip grazed the shaft.

And then the lance _moved_ and a filthy moan rippled out of him. The damned appendages on the thing started wiggling, as vigorously as in battle, sending vibrations down the length of it. Felix pressed the line of his cock against the lance and the rattling intensified and he nearly spilled from the unrelenting waves of pleasure. 

Humiliation flooded him, heating him from the inside out with shame. He was fucking a Hero Relic (and not even his own, although he _has_ thought about the flat-blade of the Sword of Moralta). Or maybe the relic was playing with him instead. But _fuck_ , it was good. Like the lance had a mind of its own and was responding to him, clattering and vibrating and sending shockwaves of pleasure that made his toes curl.

Somewhere, in a deep, repressed crevice of his mind, was the thought that if this played out wrong, he’d wind up consumed by the lance, destined to be a beast slain by Sylvain’s hand. The thought should have sickened him, but his dick felt otherwise and only served to make him press closer, grind harder, thrust faster, against the relic at the fantasy of Sylvain taming him and having his way because _it doesn’t matter what you do or become, Fe, I’ll have and take you until the day we die._

The crest stone pulsed with energy, glowing, and Felix _felt_ Sylvain in that moment. The crest in his blood thrummed as if answering the call of the Crest of Gautier and he thrust against the vibrating shaft once, twice, three more times before he came with a visceral cry, cum splattering onto the floor and dripping down the length of the lance.

Felix slumped against the Lance of Ruin, exhausted and sated and fucked out from Sylvain’s fucking relic. The glow had dimmed and the writhing appendages calmed and Felix only vaguely registered the door opening and closing.

A pause, and then, “wow Fe, you really managed to have some fun without me.”


End file.
